M.O.N.E.Y • viktuuri ✔️

1.| sugar

victor nikiforov was flying higher than a kite and he that soon, this lifestyle of his would kill him.

the twenty-two year old was sprawled out on the grey sofa in a friend of another famous friend's penthouse, flashing lights making his clouded head spin and pumping music making him sway lightly. there was some girl on his lap, believing that she had seduced a celebrity just by removing her shirt, when he was too intoxicated to have even noticed.

the hundreds of partygoers dancing seductively with each other in front of where he sat had blurred into a dark mass of long legs, too-short dresses and greased hair. the room's strong smell of liquor was enough to make an alcoholic's eyes water, and there was enough coke, sprinkled like sugar about the different tables of different sizes to earn a DEA agent enough money to retire early. the music was painfully loud, and victor was under the belief that his ears may have been bleeding, but was too irritated by the gyrating blonde on his lap to get up from the low sofa pushed against the wall in the dark where he he was splayed or on show, sugar granules around his nose and a rolled up fiver lying in between him and jj leroy, who was unconscious beside him, empty vodka bottle still held in his left hand and spilling colourless liquid onto the polished wooden floor of chris giacometti'a apartment.

victor swatted the girl away, uninterested in her now, and snatched the bottle out of jj's hands. he was sure that one day, those clearing up last night's mess of cigarettes, lipstick stains and cocaine would find him dead, and each time he took a sniff he wondered if that would be the time he had taken a little too much.

not that he was scared of an imminent overdose, oh no, but he was interested in knowing when it was going to happen. and it made that hit even better, because he knew it might damn well be his last.

the party was in full swing, hitting the peak - 2:30 a.m. there were girls eyeing up the array of famous faces in the hot, packed room, and many pairs of eyes fell on victor nikiforov, the victor nikiforov, near the right wall of chris's large apartment. but by the way he was staring vacantly at the couple making out on the opposite side of the room with his blue eyes wide, and an unconscious jj leroy slumped next to him, they must have sourced it the coke and left him be.

it was the routine of every party victor attended; the same old layout of the night. at the start, around midnight, he'd rock up two hours late and the girls, and boys, would flock around him. some would proposition him, others would flirt shamelessly, and he'd tried not to show how bored he was. then, after he'd taken a credit card from his wallet and snorted some of the coke jj had brought with him, his stepped out of the limelight. but towards the end of the night, he'd give into some fan trying to seduce him and wake up in one of the bedroom's around the place.

that was how it went. every damn time.

he blinked twice to get rid of the white dots voiding his vision, and gripped the arm of the sofa. he lit up a cigarette, but found it tasteless.

he stubbed it out and the music was cranked up so loud the walls around him seemed to shake.

victor waited for his vision to stop blurring at the edges, and tried to focus on one thing in particular in the room that wasn't moving all that much.

his bloodshot eyes found a boy at the opposite end of the room, talking to chris himself. victor squinted, and saw that the boy had dark, dark hair, and was quite small for the age victor presumed he was. he was wearing black ripped jeans, and a knotted white crop top that showed off a toned midriff, which lead victor's bleary head to piece together that this boy must be a skater like him to have a physique like that. this boy was sat up on the marble kitchen counter, amidst broken glasses and patches of red wine, and was talking to chris with a seductive smile on his face, and chris was responding with the low laugh victor knew that chris only used when he was interested. victor sniggered to himself and sniffed, running a shaky hand under his nose to make sure no blood was present. he laughed at how fickle fame had made that same nervous blonde boy who had asked for his autograph into a man with eyes that betrayed drug use and a boyfriend on a business trip and unaware of what he got up to at parties such as these.